Harry looks through the tall windows at the soft clouds outside. The sky is a dreamy shade of blue and the fluffy clouds look happy and weightless. He sighs, staring at them longingly. Were he a cloud, drifting along without a worry. Instead he's stuck here, nursing a headache that marks a terrible start to his day.
Taking off his glasses, he tosses them carelessly on the desk, creating some distance between him and the now blurry reality. The same effect can be achieved through a shot of vodka in his morning coffee, but that's a new low that he's not quite ready to sink to yet. Suppressing a groan, he glares at the seemingly harmless sheet of paper resting against his keyboard. His eyesight is bad enough that he can no longer read the annual salary quotation printed on it, but he can still see it clear as day in his mind's eye and his mouth twists bitterly. The figure is astonishingly large, especially since his savings account reflects absolutely none of it.
He runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how he's saved so little of what he's earned. The gesture does little to calm him. He wants to hit pause, rewind, and see where his life got away from him. Surely there is a fork somewhere that he can point to and blame, some obscure path that he wasn't meant to take, but stumbled across and switched to in a moment of confusion.
He rubs his forehead absently, thinking back to his first ever paycheck. Taking his friends out for a celebration and moving out of the Dursley's had burnt through almost all of it. Despite his resolution after each paycheck to save more of it, his balance is as low as it always gets around this time of month.
It makes the lack of direction that he feels more pronounced by highlighting the pointlessness of it all. Why go on when he's gaining nothing? No increase in savings, happiness, or any of the crap that adults are supposed to strive towards. When he'd first started, fresh out of university and with bright eyes, he never would have guessed that this is where he would end up: working a job that he's lost passion in, bordering on broke, and with no aspect of his life to look forward to.
His computer pings, making him jump slightly, and brings him back to the present. He fetches his glasses, pushing the offending sheet of paper into a drawer and out of view.
'Hiya Harry, got a minute?' Reads the chat box.
He is tempted to reply with a resounding 'No', but his money management issues are hardly the fault of others. Instead, he stands with a sigh, takes one last wistful look at the soft clouds, and starts walking towards the small office on his left. The short walk does not provide him with enough time to ease the frown off his face, but he tries to brighten his voice as he asks, "Wanted to see me?"
"Yes, have a seat." His head-of-department gestures to the bean-bag in front of her desk. "Is everything alright?"
Harry sinks down into the purple bean-bag, lifting his head inconveniently high to look up at her. For a moment he tries to imagine confiding in his boss about money problems, or what has been more closely resembling a quarter-life crisis. He shakes himself slightly, smiling ruefully.
"Fine, Just a headache. Did you need something?" He asks, doing his best to mask the melancholy from his voice.
"Yes," she says distractedly, pointing at her laptop with wary eyes. "Do you have any idea what's causing this issue? It's a complaint that's just come in, I'm worried that it's related to yesterday's release."
"I can have a look at it," he offers reluctantly, standing up and going around the desk to read the email over her shoulder. As he glances further down the email at the aggressively captioned images on her screen, his headache threatens to overwhelm him.
"Actually, could I have the day off?" He backtracks apologetically, pressing a finger to the side of his head. "I won't be very useful with this headache."
She gives him a pitiful look.
"Sure, I'll ask…" she starts, looking through the glass wall opposite them and frowning, "...someone else."
"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow then," says Harry, trying not to feel guilty as he leaves her office.
"Don't forget to update the system with a sick day," she calls after him.
He nods absentmindedly, aware of the drill. This isn't the first time that he's skipped work due to a headache.
About half an hour later he enters his favourite cafe on the way home, hoping that a treat will turn his day around. The irony of spending money to feel better about his overspending isn't lost on him, but the familiar aroma of coffee and fresh bread engulfs him, erasing all such thoughts. The fact that the atmosphere here is more welcoming than the house he currently resides in with three other guys brings a sad smile to his face. He orders his usual cheese sandwich and steamed milk, trying not to cringe as he rethinks his daily spendings. Before he started working this used to be so much money to him but now he spends it as he would pennies.
He walks over to the pair of armchairs in the far corner, all but humming to himself as he finds them to be empty. The sun shines directly on this side of the shop and so the sun-faded seats are not preferred by many. He has never minded a bit of sun however, and the warmth that tingles over his skin has always been more amusing than bothersome. Despite their worn look, they are the most comfortable armchairs in the cafe and he feels himself relax as he breathes and settles further into the soft cushions, his headache all but disappearing.
The temporary peace is broken as laughter erupts from a few tables over, causing Harry to look up with some irritation. He frowns at the group of suited men, squinting at the one with pale blonde hair.
"...and then I said, if you could believe it, that all of England knows that much!"
As the laughter rises again, Harry feels dread pool in his stomach. He knows that voice. That tone of self-importance can belong to no other than Draco Malfoy. He stares at the man and involuntarily recalls the school bully, his face twisting in disdain. He hasn't moved all the way across town to run into undesirable characters from his past. As he contemplates leaving, his sandwich arrives, the melted cheese glinting like gold in the sunlight. He eyes Malfoy suspiciously and decides that the man is oblivious to his presence, grabs his earphones to drown out the unwelcome sounds, and starts on his sandwich with residual displeasure at the day's turn of events.
As he starts to drown in the cheese and soft music, he brings himself back to his earlier, and in retrospect much bigger, problem. It's true that by now he's one of the only people who knows the codebase in such depth after having worked on it extensively, but he can't stay simply for that reason. Other people will learn and the company will move on without him.
He opens his eyes and glances at Malfoy again as a shot of laughter intrudes his thoughts. The man looks happy as he leads the business meeting, gesturing with his hands and holding everyone's attention. He feels a pang of jealousy, wishing that he could regain a similar passion for his work. He sighs, lets his eyes drop, and takes another bite of his sandwich. Even the satisfying crunch of the bread isn't enough to captivate him this time.
Before long, he is completely lost in his daydreams of a utopian parallel universe, looking unseeingly inside his tall glass of milk, moving the thin straw through the liquid aimlessly. He seems to find himself lost in some such daydream more and more lately, something that he's aware of but can't help nonetheless. Sometimes, it's the only thing that keeps him going: A hope, however feeble, that happiness is possible, albeit in a far-fetched land.
A faint notion of someone calling his name stirs him out of his fantasies and he plucks out one earphone automatically, looking up.
"Harry Potter?" Repeats the slightly shocked voice.
Harry stares into Malfoy's eyes for a moment, then looks around the shop helplessly. The meeting seems to have come to an end while he sat there lost in another world, and now Malfoy is the only one left, finally noticing Harry on his way to the counter for the bill. He tries to say something as Malfoy starts moving towards his corner of the shop.
"This is my side of the city," he blurts out, and gets confused by the smile that the comment brings to Malfoy's face.
"I didn't realize we had sides," he replies, placing a hand on the armchair beside Harry's. "May I?"
Harry frowns and puts down his glass, which seems enough of an invitation for his unwanted companion to sit down.
"Malfoy," he says stiffly, trying to make up for his earlier wild comment.
"Come now Harry, call me Draco," he says, still smiling. "I was just talking about the good old days over lunch, and here you are tucked into the corner. Come to think of it, isn't this the first time I've seen you since our high school graduation? How long has it been, five, six years?"
"Eight years," mumbles Harry, his frown deepening. Their past isn't as jolly as Malfoy is making it out to be.
"Has it really been that long?" An easy laugh flows towards Harry, making him even more uncomfortable. "I could have sworn it was just yesterday!"
"Yes, it has been eight years since school ended," reaffirms Harry dismissively, gathering his wits about him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."
"Surely it can wait a few minutes as old friends catch up?"
"Old friends?" Harry can't help but mimic, his eyebrows rising. "You were the school bully, Malfoy. Or is your memory so short-term?"
The comment does little to dissipate the smile on Malfoy's face, rather, it brings a glint to his eyes as well.
"We were children, playing games and having fun," says Malfoy with a wave of his arm. "Besides, you can't blame it all on me, I remember you starting a number of our disagreements unaided," he continues pleasantly. A look of apprehension settles on his face as he watches Harry stand up without any further comments. "Don't tell me that you've been holding a grudge all this time?"
"I haven't thought of you in eight years, Malfoy," says Harry curtly, lifting his bag and turning to leave the cafe. "Good day."
He reaches the door before he recalls the need to settle his own bill. He turns around uneasily, only to overhear Malfoy at the counter, saying that he will be covering Harry's bill as well. He stands by the door, waiting impatiently.
"You didn't have to do that," he says, arms crossed over his chest, as Malfoy reaches him.
"It was my pleasure," says Malfoy, shrugging at Harry's unhappy expression. "You can cover the bill for our next meal."
"Our next meal?" Repeats Harry, frozen on the spot.
"Well yes, however else will we catch up? I want to hear all about what you're doing now, what the rest of the gang is up to, and just have a conversation," says Malfoy exasperatedly.
"You can't keep pretending that we're friends," says Harry, disgruntled. "Why would I want to catch up with you? We hated each other during school."
"That's quite an over-exaggeration." Seeing the unyielding look in Harry's eyes, Malfoy continues, "Well, you do owe me a meal."
"I can pay you back right now," says Harry, pulling out his wallet.
Malfoy waves a hand in the air, moving past Harry to open the door.
"No need, no need. I'll call you up with a dinner plan later this week, how's that sound?"
He is gone before Harry can say anything more.
"You don't even have my number," mumbles Harry to himself, shakes his head, and walks off in the opposite direction.
He is lying on top of the shared sofa in the living room, staring at the grimy ceiling fan. Taking the whole week off had seemed like a grand idea just a couple of days ago, but is now starting to prove tiresome. He has been trying and failing to write his resignation letter during the entirety of his leave, hoping that writing down his reasons for leaving will help clear things up in his head. The problem is that the longer he tries, the more reasons he finds for staying.
He sighs and throws an arm over his head, the movement making him groan in discomfort. The springs of the battered sofa dig into him at uncomfortable angles and he is ready to climb the pale yellow walls out of boredom. As his stomach starts to rumble in hunger, he finally sits up, the prospect of a good lunch too tempting to ignore. He tosses his pen and paper into the bag over his shoulder and leaves the stuffy house, looking forward to something for the first time since the start of his self-imprisonment.
It doesn't take him long to reach the cafe. He hasn't come back here for the sake of saving money and he's missed it dearly. The familiar scents wrap around him and he smiles, content, feeling some of the tension leave his body. Instead of the usual sandwich and milk, he orders a slice of cake and a glass of juice, hoping that the sugar will help lift his mood.
At first glance he finds the corner seats to be empty as usual and walks towards them eagerly. He can all but feel himself resting his sore back comfortably on the soft cushions when he spots pale blonde hair from the back of his armchair and freezes.
"...and to think that I've been coming here every single day since then, and he hasn't even had the decency to show once," Malfoy is muttering to himself gloomily.
Harry looks down at his carrot cake and sighs, supposing it inevitable. He's pushed out all thoughts of Malfoy during the past few days and now feels quite ambushed in his favourite cafe, but also can't comfortably keep blaming the man for every misfortune at school if he feels guilty about owing him a meal. He walks over to the corner seat and sets down his tray determinedly.
"What are you having?" He asks, getting straight to the point.
"Hello," says Malfoy, a slow smile appearing on his face. "There you are, I was starting to think I would never see you again."
Harry huffs. "Let me just buy you a meal so we can go back to not running into each other."
"Whatever should we do that for?" Asks Malfoy, genuinely perplexed. "Even if you insist that we're not the best of friends, it's still true that we've known each other since we were school boys. Aren't you the least bit curious about what I've been doing in the past eight years? I'm definitely curious about your life."
"Fine, if I tell you what my life is like will you leave me alone?" Asks Harry timidly, sitting down and crossing his arms over his chest.
He hears a sigh and frowns. This version of Malfoy that is being the mature one in their exchanges is far from the boy he remembers. It makes him question why he's the only one holding a grudge, pushes him to remember how old he really is, and how different he believes himself to be from the sullen teenager that he used to be. A little bit ashamed, he lets go of the hostility, weariness taking its place.
"Look, it's not about you, I don't keep in touch with anyone from school. So when I say that I don't want to talk, I would say that to just about anyone," he says honestly, looking away uncomfortably.
Malfoy seems to brighten up at his change in demeanor, but the oddity of the sentence brings a frown to his face. He asks, "No one? Not even your best friends?"
"No, not even Ron and Hermione," confirms Harry, surprised at the concern in Malfoy's voice.
"How does that happen?" Asks Malfoy in disbelief. "You were so close in school, I'm sure that everyone thought you inseparable."
Harry looks at Malfoy for a moment, chewing on his lip. His stomach drops when a sliver of pity flashes in those eyes and he feels himself close off once more.
"I don't need your pity, Malfoy. If you're not eating then let me have my meal in peace," he says indignantly, turning his gaze away.
"It's Draco," he corrects absentmindedly. "I'm not sure that cake and juice constitute a meal, exactly, perhaps a snack." At Harry's cold look, he continues, "And I'm not pitying you, I'm mourning the loss of our childhood. So much has changed, hasn't it?"
Harry's eyes soften at the memories that the comment brings. He puts a forkful of cake into his mouth and nods slightly.
"Look, why don't we meet, let's say tonight, for dinner and drinks? It'll be easier to talk, and if you're not in a sharing mood I can direct the conversation."
That sentence is just out of place enough in a conversation between him and his old school nemesis that Harry almost chokes on his cake.
"I don't understand, why me?" He asks after swallowing painfully. "There are many others from our year more than happy to catch up with you, I'm sure."
Malfoy studies him silently.
"I must seem really desperate, huh?" He asks finally, a sad smile on his lips. His tone has changed, the unnatural cheeriness gone as if it was nothing but a mask. Now he just sounds as tired and looks as weary as Harry himself has been feeling since his hostility melted away.
"What's going on with you?" Asks Harry slowly.
"Nothing that you would understand," Malfoy replies. There is no accusation in his voice, just resignation.
Something in Harry breaks at that admission. He considers the man in front of him. The melancholy that has enwrapped Malfoy feels so in-tune with what he has been going through that it makes him feel nauseous just to be reminded of the bleakness of life. Yet, a small part of him is glad to have found someone who seems to feel as broken as he does. A sigh escapes him and a gentleness settles on his heart, a need to offer a kind word.
"We all have our demons to fight," he says softly. "Why don't you try me? Maybe I understand more than you think."
Malfoy looks at him skeptically through troubled eyes. He sighs and leans back in his chair, considering Harry for a moment.
"If you told me eight years ago that this is where I would end up after graduation, I never would have believed you," he says wistfully. "I thought that I would finish university, go into business, work alongside my Father, and live in luxury. None of that happened."
A bitter laugh leaves Malfoy's lips and Harry pales at the sound. The pain in Malfoy's voice is raw and resonates within him. All he can see is his own life, his own parallel anguish.
"It's like I'm two different people, the one in school and the one after school," continues Malfoy, gesturing with his hands at two separate sections in the air. "I've tried to reconcile the two, I've tried meeting old friends, attempting to bridge the gap, understand what happened to my life, but nothing feels the same."
Malfoy takes a moment to breathe. He's looking at his hands in contemplation, moving them closer and further away from each other.
"But that day when I saw you here, I felt the same rivalry I felt in school," admits Malfoy. "I wanted to know if you had made your life into something better than I had, I wanted to prove that I was winning. I wanted to be the mature one, the sensible one, the one that has grown the most. But you always see right through me, don't you?"
The begrudging eyes take hold of Harry.
"I only wanted to be left alone," says Harry defensively, the accusation too strong for him to bear. He softens his tone, feeling a kinship between them, both entangled in a similar misery. "I don't know what's happened in your life, Malfoy," he starts, only to be cut off.
"It's Draco!" He snaps, continuing with a sigh, "I am not my Father, nor will I ever be. I'm just Draco."
Harry can see the truth in that. The man before him may have once identified as Malfoy, but is now Draco, and it makes the distinction between the two different personas in his head easier to handle.
"Okay, Draco," Harry puts up his hands in surrender. "I don't know what's happened in your life that's lead you to this point, but you can't use me to put the pieces back together. I have no idea what you think I can help with anyway, all we're good at is arguing and getting on each other's nerves."
"Doesn't it bring back some sense of normalcy, though?" Asks Draco with a bitter smile.
"Normal for me is sitting alone in this cafe without having to justify myself to anyone," grumbles Harry.
He is startled by Draco resounding laugh and looks up.
"I can't believe I've actually missed this," explains Draco, pointing back and forth in the space between them.
"You've gone properly insane, haven't you?" Asks Harry in wonder, which only makes the man laugh louder.
Harry lets a small smile lift up the corner of his own lips.
"Just meet me for dinner and drinks and tell me how I'm winning at life compared to you," pleads Draco.
"You probably are," murmurs Harry.
"Hm?"
"Nothing," answers Harry resolutely. "Fine, dinner and drinks tonight. We can meet at the pub on the corner of the street. I'll be there at seven."
Draco's eyes light up and Harry starts on his cake again, pushing away the feelings of normalcy that he is in fact plagued with as well, regardless of how foreign it feels to be on less hostile terms.
"So, what happened to the Golden Trio?" Asks Draco as they sit across from each other at dinner. At Harry's prolonged silence, he clarifies, "if you're worried about embarrassing yourself, rest assured that there is no possible way that your life is worse than mine has turned out to be."
Rather than getting cheered up by the comment, Harry feels disheartened by the reminder of how desolate both their lives are and rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming.
"I need a drink," he states, looking towards the bar.
Draco seems to instantly brighten up at the idea of a drunken conversation. Once a double shot of spiced rum is resting between Harry's hands, another empty glass that once harboured the same drink cast off to the side, he feels the headache recede and the darkness surrounding his heart lighten up a little. He takes a deep breath, finally ready to answer Draco's question.
"Ron and Hermione live a different sort of life," he starts, realizes that he's quite tipsy, and frowns. "Happily married with kids, and have new parent-friends." Draco raises an eyebrow at his deteriorating vocabulary. Harry pays him no mind, takes another long sip of his drink, and swallows. "Sure, we send each other happy birthday wishes, but not much more."
His head is by now pleasantly light, and a slow smile spreads across his lips as he sets down the empty glass next to its twin. A third one has made its way to their table before Draco proceeds to his next question.
"But you have found new friends as well, haven't you?" He asks.
Harry glances with dissatisfaction at Draco's sober state, who has chosen apple cider for the night.
"I work a lot," replies Harry defensively. When Draco doesn't seem to buy that, he whines, "It's too much work to find new friends."
He frowns. His sober self will definitely regret these decisions tomorrow. Shrugging, he tips up his glass of rum and empties its contents. That's a worry for another day.
"Aren't you completely depressed by now? Lonely out of your mind?" Pushes Draco.
"Not really," says Harry, trying not to smile at the melodrama of the situation. Draco sounding genuinely worried about his mental health? Imagine that.
The dubious look that is sent his way prompts him to continue, "I'm fine, really. I just need some peace and quiet so I can figure out how to quit my job and still afford my rent."
His frown returns. He hadn't meant to let that slip. He pushes the third empty glass into the neat row that he's making and glares at the waiter who is moving towards their table, possibly intending to remove them.
"Quit your job? That's the depression talking, see," says Draco, focusing his attention once more.
"It's not depression," objects Harry, reaching towards his bag, which he has dragged along with him, and pulls out the crumpled sheets of paper. "I've been working on my resignation letter for a while now, but none of my drafts are any good."
Draco takes the heap from him and reads through some of the pages, smoothing them out enough to make the words visible.
"Lost my passion… unproductive work… same cycle of projects… no real impact…" he reads out phrases as he shuffles through the pages. "Is this how you really feel?"
"Yes," says Harry with a sigh, unable to keep the words from tumbling out in his current state. "But what else can I do? I need the money and coding is the only thing I'm good at. If not this company, it will be another company just like it, if not worse. I'm just so worn down by doing the same thing over and over, and about as broke as when I first started too. What's there to look forward to?"
He takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly, taking a large sip of the newly-arrived glass of rum. His long rant has sobered him up somewhat and he craves the light-headedness and distance that a more tipsy state offers. He watches Draco from the corner of his eyes, looking for any outward reactions to his admissions. He hasn't opened up to anyone in months, if not longer. Letting himself be this vulnerable in front of someone he barely considers an acquaintance is one of the stranger things he's done, and although he can't feel any consequential regret yet, he knows that when he wakes up tomorrow with a clear head, he surely will.
"So, is this what your life is, then?" Asks Draco, handing the pages back to him. "Married to a job you despise, no friends to speak of, no future planned or saved for?"
"Go on, laugh," mutters Harry. "I can't believe this is what my life has become either."
"Then it seems that we're in the same boat," allows Draco.
"Please," says Harry dismissively, waving a hand. "At least you enjoy your job. I saw you in that meeting the other day, all passion and confidence."
"Hardly," scoffs Draco. "I'm also thinking of leaving my current position."
They sit in silence as Harry nurses his chilled glass of rum. He sends Draco curious glances, but keeps his questions to himself.
It's not long after he's emptied his fourth glass that he finds himself to be in desperate need of a bathroom. He looks at the uninviting entrance of the pub's restrooms and groans.
"I'm going to settle the bill and head home," he announces.
"It's still quite early," says Draco, surprised, looking at the clock on the wall and then at Harry.
"Try telling that to my bladder," he mumbles, pushing himself unsteadily off his chair.
"There are bathrooms here," comments Draco, puzzled.
Harry tries to shake his head, and stops, only having noticed how drunk he truly is after standing on his feet. He resorts to words instead.
"Gross," he mutters, shooting the bathrooms a dirty look. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
"Hold on," says Draco with concern. "Let me walk you home at least."
Harry pays him no mind and makes his way to the cashier, paying the sum of what he gathers to be at least five times what Draco had paid for his lunch, but to be fair it's mostly the cost of his own drinks piled up. As he leaves the pub, he stops to look at the bushes across the street with a longing expression. Frowning at himself, he starts walking down the familiar street, trying to hurry but not move too much at the same time. Being so focused on stopping his bladder from running wild, and forgetting all about the companion he's left behind, he jumps when someone starts speaking right next to his ear.
"It's a good thing I'm walking you home," the voice announces. "You left your phone. Honestly, are you this drunk after just four shots of rum?"
"They were four double shots of rum," he grumbles, snatching his phone out of the outstretched hand.
"Right," says the voice, far too amused still for Harry's liking. "Anyway, I took the liberty of saving my number on your phone. I don't much enjoy sitting around every day at the cafe hoping you'll show up. Wonders of the modern technology, and all that."
Harry is too preoccupied to register the comment. He's trying to count in his head how many minutes he has until he gets home, and no matter how many calculations he attempts, the numbers are far too big to be on his side.
"I can't do it," he says in frustration, suddenly standing still.
"Oh, come on, we've had a pretty civil night, haven't we?" Asks the pained voice. "We were actually starting to get somewhere."
"I can't," he repeats again. "I can't hold it in for another ten minutes. I have to pee right now, or I'll explode."
"Ah," comes the understanding reply.
Harry makes his way across the street to the bushes, and prays that no one drives by. The street is pretty much deserted, but the street lamps are bright enough that should someone drive by, they will surely know what he is up to.
"And this is better than the pub bathroom, how?" The voice asks, irritatingly having followed him across the street.
Harry sighs in pleasure as he relieves himself, paying the question no mind. His head starts to clear, but not enough to cause him much regret for his current action.
"Much better," he murmurs, heading once more in the direction of his house.
"I'm not sure that I want to be associated with you anymore," says the disgruntled voice. "What kind of barbarian turns his nose up at a bathroom only to use a bush on the main street?"
Harry hums pleasantly, still buzzed enough to want to maintain his current state of mind, and walks on at a leisurely pace. The fresh breeze hits his face delightfully, and the stars look especially bright. He walks with his head turned up towards the sky, grinning despite the position making him dizzy.
"Are you even listening to me?" Enquires the voice.
"Left my phone, too drunk, barbarian, et cetera," replies Harry easily. His head has cleared up with the fresh air, and he glances at Draco curiously once the world stops spinning dangerously. "So, did hearing about my failure of a life and watching me pee while drunk bring back the normalcy you wanted?"
Draco snorts and looks at him. "Nothing about tonight has been normal."
"Sorry to be such a disappointment," he comments, looking back up at the stars.
"It's the most fun I've had in months," admits Draco softly, walking alongside him amicably.
"Tell me about it," replies Harry. "I'll definitely regret it in the morning, though."
"For spilling your deepest, darkest secrets?" Teases Draco.
Harry trips on something and quick arms catch him before he can stumble too far. He stubbornly continues to look up at the sky as he disentangles himself from them and walks forward.
"Something like that," he allows.
"Well, you know how miserable I am too. So there's that."
Harry hums and looks back down to the sidewalk. His house is just around the corner. He didn't expect to feel so, but he's not eager for the night to end.
"So, this is me," he proclaims, turning around to look at Draco.
The grey eyes search his for a moment.
"Then this is where we part ways," he says slowly.
"So it is," confirms Harry.
After a few moments of silence, he goes on, "Listen, I had a better night than I thought I would. Let's do it again some time, yeah?"
Draco looks at him for a moment longer before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning slightly to the left.
"Yeah, sure," he says, his eyes still searching Harry's.
"Right then, good night," says Harry, turning to walk home. He feels like there are things left unsaid, like it's not supposed to end so soon, like the next time they see each other the easy camaraderie will be gone again, and a part of him mourns its loss already.
He hears Draco start to walk away when he reaches the doorway. He finds his keys, opens the door after a minute of trying, and walks in, closing it behind him with a sigh. Who knew that he would feel so connected to someone that he used to despise so much? Having this in common with him, hating the cards that life has dealt them, it makes all the difference.